


you were the most exciting thing i'd ever known

by armyofbees



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Canon, ben is ambitious and caleb knows this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 12:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: “You don’t have to, you know,” Ben says quietly. He tries to meet Caleb’s eyes but Caleb stares at his hands, twisting his fingers together. “You can stay here. Or go somewhere else.”“I can’t, though,” Caleb says, pulling his hands apart and scrubbing one down his face. “You know… I — can’t. I do have to.”





	you were the most exciting thing i'd ever known

**Author's Note:**

> i return... crawling at you from the shadows... into the half light of a dying fandom. alack, i was rewatching this and...... my boys....
> 
> title is from [You Told the Drunls I Knew Karate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9EwBNm1Uhs0) by Zoey Van Goey which is a fantastic tallster song and just a good song all around. give it a listen!
> 
> anyways i hope you enjoy! if you do you can find me on [tumblr](https://townhulls.tumblr.com/)! if you don't you can also find me on [tumblr](https://townhulls.tumblr.com/) but mean this time. thanks!

March 6, 1770.

 

Caleb had read the papers. And of course Ben had, too. And Caleb knew, as he read, his eyes scanning the words dully, _knew_ that he was going to let him do whatever he wanted. That he was going to follow him, too. He figured he deserved a drink for that, at least.

Now, half a bottle of his uncle’s scotch later, he can’t stay still. He can’t be home for this. He should find Ben, should at least try to talk him out of everything he knows is going to happen. God. He’s nineteen and he’s ready to die.

Twenty minutes later he finds himself in the Tallmadges’ hayloft. At first he’s not sure why, but he reasons that he didn’t want to stay home and there’s no way he’s knocking on Ben’s door this late, this drunk. It’s warm, at least, if not the most comfortable. The barn is empty and silent and Caleb nurses the scotch.

He thinks about war. After everything today, after Revere’s illustration, after the outrage… it’s inevitable. It’s cold outside but spring is on its way, warmth unfurling around this impending revolution. The change of seasons carries with it a certain spirit that had infected Boston yesterday, that had undoubtedly gotten to Ben already. Caleb groans into his hand. He is so, so stupid.

He’d follow him into hell and back. Even if the cause is doomed, even if there’s no way to win. Even if he knows they’re going to lose. He’ll follow Ben to the ends of the earth, to the end of his life.

And that’s a bit too much for tonight. He can’t stop thinking. He needs to stop thinking. He makes to stand but instead knocks a loose bale of hay from the loft, watches it burst open on the ground ten, fifteen feet below. Hm. He sinks back to his knees and sips the scotch.

After a moment the door to the barn creaks open, just wide enough to admit a person, tall and slim. Blond hair colored silver by the night, no lantern to light his face. Caleb knows who it is anyway. He’d know him anywhere.

“Ben!” he calls, jovial, swaying to his feet. He looks down, trying to gauge the distance to the drop-off, and almost topples over the edge of the loft.

Ben jumps, head snapping up to look at him. “Christ, Caleb, what are you doing here? Get down from there.” A pause. “And be quiet. Are you drunk?”

“I was looking for you,” Caleb says, still too loud. “Kind of. More like I had scotch and it made seeing your stupid face seem like a good idea.”

“Well, this stupid face would much appreciate it if you didn’t fall to your death in his barn. Do you need help getting down?” Ben closes the barn door behind him, quietly as he can.

“No,” Caleb says, and makes for the ladder. He clutches the scotch to him as he steps onto the rungs, and he hears Ben inhale sharply beneath him.

“Don’t… Just drop the liquor, Caleb.”

Caleb twists to look at him over his shoulder, forgets his balance, and falls. He hits Ben square in the chest and they crash to the ground, twin shouts rising into the air. They don’t move for a moment. Sluggishly, Caleb thrusts the scotch into the air, intact.

Ben knocks it out of his hand and sits up, shoving Caleb off into the dirt of the barn floor. Caleb doesn’t fight him, rolls over and half-sits up. “How much did you drink?” Ben demands.

“Does ‘I don’t care about my own demise’ count as an answer?” Caleb replies, grinning, a tad too sad for shit-eating.

Ben just sighs, picking the bottle up off of the ground and moving it out of Caleb’s reach. He makes a noise halfway between a protest and a whine. “What’s gotten into you?”

“What’s it matter?” Caleb asks, then reconsiders. “The news,” he amends, disconsolate. _And you. Under my skin and everywhere._ “You’ve read it.”

“What, the bloodshed in Boston?” Ben touches Caleb’s arm briefly. “Are you really so upset? Was there someone you know?” Caleb just gives him a dry look, which he doesn’t return.

“Give me the scotch,” Caleb says.

“No. You’ve had way too much.” Ben peers at him. “You’re absolutely grogged. You won’t remember a thing in the morning.”

“I have excellent constitution, I’ll have you know,” Caleb says, and immediately regrets it. He feels flushed, but Ben misses it, bless him. He examines Ben, all long limbs and eyelashes, stiff and tense. “It would be… courteous, as it were. If you were to have a drink.”

Ben raises an eyebrow and glances at the scotch. He scoops it off the ground and raises it to his lips. “Just for you,” he says, half-mocking, and drinks. Caleb looks away.

They sit in silence for a moment. Ben sets the scotch next to himself, still out of Caleb’s reach. Caleb finally looks back at him and finds him gazing intently at the barn wall, deep in thought. Caleb doesn’t have the heart to shake him free, so he trails his eyes down to the ground and debates making a grab for the liquor.

“There’s something about it, you know,” Ben says at length. He meets Caleb’s eyes suddenly and with intensity. “About the papers, and Boston. Everything is so close. If there’s a war —”

“No,” Caleb interrupts. “It’s not an ‘if’ anymore, Ben.” Maybe it’s the scotch talking, but he needs to say this. He was in the hayloft for a reason and though he doesn’t _want_ to tell Ben any of this, it comes pouring out anyways. “The British… and how many dead? And injured. And I _know_ you, I know what you want, and I know that I can’t… I —”

“Are you — what are you talking about?” Ben’s brow furrows. “I mean, how can you —”

“You’re going. To war. We — the country. We’re going to war.” He’s sure, and he knows that Ben is, too. Even if he doesn’t want to be. He continues, “And when it happens, you’ll go.” Caleb looks at him then and wishes, pleads with him to say no. Even if it’s a lie, just to tell him he’s wrong.

But Ben looks uncomfortable, and then proud. “I will. Samuel is too.”

Caleb wants another drink, or to go to sleep, or to take a swing at his best friend. Instead, he looks down and nods. He doesn’t say anything but he knows that Ben knows what he’s thinking.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Ben says quietly. He tries to meet Caleb’s eyes but Caleb stares at his hands, twisting his fingers together. “You can stay here. Or go somewhere else.”

“I can’t, though,” Caleb says, pulling his hands apart and scrubbing one down his face. “You know… I — can’t. I do have to.”

“Why?” Ben says, gently, all innocence, but he knows what he’s doing. Caleb doesn’t reply. “Come on. You don’t have to. Why do you have to?”

“You don’t really want me to say it. I do so much shit for you, Tallboy. Do this for me.” Caleb flashes a deflated smile.

Ben sits back and takes a swig of scotch, coughs around it. “Come on, we’re drunk. What’s a word, Brewster?”

Caleb snorts. “You? Hardly.” He gestures to the scotch. “Maybe if you finish that, you pillock.” Ben looks offended, but he drinks.

They’re quiet and Caleb hopes Ben will stop asking so many questions. He knows the answers already. They both do, but it’s not any easier to say out loud. Especially when Caleb doesn’t know what Ben would say back.

“I think,” Ben says, and stops. He leans forward, rocking onto his knees, taller now and closer. “I think… you think I’m something I’m not.”

Caleb doesn’t move. Ben hovers too close; his breath smells of alcohol. “Maybe,” he says, his voice too quiet. “The scotch was a bad idea.” The words tumble out, quickly.

“No,” Ben murmurs. He considers Caleb, almost nervous, almost drunk. “You’d follow me?”

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Caleb breathes. And that’s it. It’s out in four inconspicuous words, and Caleb feels his heart pounding in his chest.

Ben doesn’t speak for a moment. He lifts a hand tentatively, and Caleb is struck by the fact that this is his friend. He’s inexperienced and young and unbearably intuitive, but it’s _Ben._ The hand rests lightly on Caleb’s shoulder, then shifts to the back of his neck, and when Ben kisses him it tastes like alcohol.

Caleb presses closer, sits up to meet Ben halfway. His fingertips graze Ben’s face and they pull apart. Ben’s eyes flutter open, watch him curiously. Caleb traces his jaw with two fingers, then pulls back further.

“Ben,” he says abruptly. “Are you…”

“I’m sure.” Ben’s face breaks into a smile suddenly. “I’ve never been more sure.” He runs his hands over Caleb’s shoulders, tugging him closer. “If…” he pauses, thinking. “Stay. With me. Even if — when it happens.”

 _The war,_ Caleb thinks. The bloody war. Anger, not hot enough to be rage, flares and dies. “Of course,” he says.

Ben nods and smiles like it’s the last time he’ll smile at Caleb, then kisses him again.

They fall asleep in the barn, curled into each other, scotch cast aside. It’s one of the stupider things they’ve ever done, but when Caleb wakes to Ben blinking blearily in the early morning light, he doesn’t regret it. And when Ben smiles, leans up, kisses him, he knows he’d do it all again.


End file.
